Mar 22 | “The Hidden Light,” (Sermon, March 22nd 2016)

Now among those who went up to worship at the festival were some Greeks. 21They came to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee, and said to him, ‘Sir, we wish to see Jesus.’ 22Philip went and told Andrew; then Andrew and Philip went and told Jesus. 23Jesus answered them, ‘The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. 24Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. 25Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. 26Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also. Whoever serves me, the Father will honour.

27 ‘Now my soul is troubled. And what should I say—“Father, save me from this hour”? No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour. 28Father, glorify your name.’ Then a voice came from heaven, ‘I have glorified it, and I will glorify it again.’ 29The crowd standing there heard it and said that it was thunder. Others said, ‘An angel has spoken to him.’ 30Jesus answered, ‘This voice has come for your sake, not for mine. 31Now is the judgement of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out. 32And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.’ 33He said this to indicate the kind of death he was to die. 34The crowd answered him, ‘We have heard from the law that the Messiah remains for ever. How can you say that the Son of Man must be lifted up? Who is this Son of Man?’ 35Jesus said to them, ‘The light is with you for a little longer. Walk while you have the light, so that the darkness may not overtake you. If you walk in the darkness, you do not know where you are going. 36While you have the light, believe in the light, so that you may become children of light.’

After Jesus had said this, he departed and hid from them.

John 12:20-36

 

I have this friend. He’s what John O’Donohue would call an “anam cara,” a “soul friend.”

We met at a Goth club I used to go to every Sunday evening. (If you’re curious about that part of my life it’s actually a lot less exciting than it sounds; just spectacular outfits, very loud music, and a lot of pierced and tattooed people more likely to spend their hard-earned cash on corsets than any of the illicit substances my mother thought they consumed in the bathroom.)

My friend is older than me, he’s gay, and identifies as Pagan but was raised Plymouth Brethren. When I met him he also attended a Presbyterian Church, and is a faithful member of the late-night Compline service congregation at Christ Church Cathedral. He’s got a rich spiritual heritage and temperament.

We began our relationship with a conversation about religion, and have continued in that vein for several years. We exchange books. We share in each other’s struggles.

His Plymouth Brethren background, his spiritual practices, and his sexual orientation mean that he currently has a familiar but uneasy relationship with Christianity, freely admitting that leaving it was the hardest but most necessary thing he has ever done. The Plymouth Brethren are a nonconformist offshoot of the Anglican Church which can be traced back to mid-seventeenth century Dublin. They reject the concept of clergy leadership, are theologically conservative, and are liturgically very Protestant, without much music or embellishments.

Although most of the time my friend was open and humourously self-deprecating about his birth faith, it occasionally shone through in interesting ways, most notably one year when I encouraged him to come to Cathedral services during Holy Week.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” he said, in a dry, scoffing tone I can hear ever so clearly in my head right now, “It’s no more holy than any other week.”

Is Holy Week more holy than any other week?

I suppose technically it isn’t. We’re looking forward to some really important things, but for most people I imagine it doesn’t feel that different.

Especially on the Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, before we get to the good stuff on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. Why would we mark this entire week? Why do these first three days get their own pages in the BAS? Why do we get to change colour to red? There’s nothing about these days that stands out the way the palms or the foot-washing or the Cross does. Aside from these cosmetic changes a lot of it probably feels pretty mundane.

I can understand that. It’s not like the world stops when we mark this time.

But maybe that’s where the wisdom lies.

Chapter 12 of the Gospel of John is the beginning of what scholars call the ‘Book of Glory,’ because ‘glory’ is mentioned so many times. Our narrative moves into a constant song of Jesus being ‘lifted up.’ That phrase is a hint that our evangelist probably spoke Hebrew, because the Hebrew word nasah means both ‘glorify’ and ‘lift up.’ If the earlier Book of Signs (which begins with the wedding at Cana and ends with the raising of Lazarus) is about the descent of the Word into the world, this book is about the Word’s ascent out of the world. In the Book of Signs, Jesus gave everyone a chance to see and believe who he really was. In the Book of Glory, all of the things he tried to explain are about to come to fruition. If you don’t get it now, it’s too late. You will be left in the dark, like Nicodemus. Like the Pharisees who didn’t believe the blind man in Chapter 9. Like Judas.

In the passage we just read, our patron saint Philip is approached by some Greeks. It’s unclear as to why they approached him, although it could be because they knew him – Philip is, after all, a Greek name, and Philip was from the cosmopolitan city of Bethesda. Philip gets Andrew, and they both go to Jesus to let him know he’s got fans to talk to.

And then what? Some weird noises, something that almost sounds like it could be another long-winded discourse but is surprisingly short and curt, and then Jesus hides.

Because, verse 37: “Although he had performed so many signs in their presence, they did not believe in him.”

And so the Light of the World becomes hidden.

How could this be? It’s like the worst timing! Jesus just made a huge deal coming into Jerusalem. The Pharisees say to each other, “Look, the world has gone after him!” And it’s true, because here are some Greeks, some Gentiles. You don’t get much further from the family than that. And then Jesus says, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Soooo bye!”

What kind of glory is this that must be hidden from those who seek it out? How can the Light of the World be a hidden light, when we are told by our brother Matthew to let our light shine before others?

Well, the problem, for John, lies here: If the Light of the World were easy to see, there would have been no need for a Messiah figure in the first place. John’s whole story is about Jesus calling people to remember a truth they have forgotten.

I have more sympathy for the forgetful than John does. I forget little things all the time. I can imagine it would be just as easy to forget something huge like your own self-worth and agency when you’re being trampled by so many foreign Empires. I can imagine that, having forgotten, one might misremember, and believe that salvation comes through a sword. That was, after all, what the Roman Empire taught.

The hidden light of self-sacrificing love of your enemies would be really hard to see at that point. In fact, it would probably look like complete nonsense.

But it wasn’t. It isn’t.

I’m going to show you the way we show our children here at St. Philip’s, when we tell the Godly Play Baptism story. After explaining what baptism looks like, we light the light of Christ, and then each child receives a candle to remind them of their baptism. We reflect on how amazing it is that so much light can grow from just one light, and the one light not be any smaller for it.

And then, we say this:

“There comes a time when the light is changed so it is not in just one place anymore. It can be in many places all at once. Watch.”

You snuff the candle. It’s important to snuff rather than blow it out, because when you snuff, the smoke is held and can be released in this way.

We say, “The Light that was just in one place at one time is in all places in all times. So the Light can be everywhere in this room, and even in other places. Everywhere you go in this room, you will bump into the Light.”

There is a hidden truth here. It’s hidden because…well, think of trying to explain to someone how this works. “You make the light bigger by extinguishing it.” It’s nonsense.

And yet.

In these few red days, know that the light is hidden in these simple acts of meeting, telling stories, forgiving and proclaiming, eating, and sending each other out.

Know that the light is changed, passed from one body to yours, and is now hidden by your flesh…and waiting to be lifted up.

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